


Not For Duty

by bloodsongs



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur yelling at Merlin being a reckless idiot (as usual), Banter in a serious situation, Boys Being Idiots, Gen, Merlin being a reckless idiot for Arthur (as usual), Pre-Slash, So... the usual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-20
Updated: 2013-04-20
Packaged: 2017-12-09 00:18:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/767775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodsongs/pseuds/bloodsongs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Stop picking at it,” Arthur says, because he doesn’t know how to deal with this suddenly sullen Merlin, quiet and thoughtful and upset. “You might aggravate it.”</p><p>“Won’t,” Merlin mutters, and clutches loosely at the wound, closing his eyes, teeth clenched. “You are such an utter pillock, Arthur, how could you put yourself at risk like that?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not For Duty

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt 'Nurse Me' by Tundras on Tumblr.

He is  _seething_.

“In what world, pray,” Arthur demands, heart still hammering in his chest as he yanks the cloth around Merlin’s arm rather vindictively, “do you think it is acceptable to bloody run at a wolf like that?!”

Merlin winces and swats at Arthur, pulling away and hissing at the pain. “It’d knocked you to the ground, I had to distract it somehow. Would you rather that I’d let it lop your arm off?”

“That would not have happened!” Arthur rages, eyes wide, and he leaves Merlin to lean back against the tree before taking his sword out from between the ribs of the dead animal. “I had it under control, you idiot!” In any other situation, he’d be crowing over what a fine pelt the wolf would yield, but Arthur’s just supremely irritated and worried instead.

It’s a bit of a cycle. He’s worried, which irritates him because Merlin’s the kind of person you can’t  _help_ but worry about given his unfortunate tendency to trip over himself without any obstacles in the general vicinity (among many other equally unfortunate tendencies). Merlin would mock him mercilessly should he catch wind of Arthur so much as giving a rat’s arse about his well-being; that’s just the thing Merlin would do. And then that irritation gives way to worry, because what if he’s pushing Merlin too much when he’s injured, and…

“Oh, sure,” Merlin says offhandedly, and only months of having heard those same words with the same inflections betrays the slightest shake to his voice, wavering and not quite there. Pain? No, also anger. But why? “Just another second, and then I’d have to explain to the court how all the sorcerers in the kingdom couldn’t take you down but a mangy wolf had done the job for them in a minute.”

Yeah, all right, it’s not like Merlin ever shuts his gob anyway even when the gash on his arm is bleeding enough scarlet to dye a whole white tunic. But that’s not the point.

He opens his mouth to say something, but Merlin’s biting his lip, looking to the side as he plucks absently at the edges of the cloth wrapped tightly around his arm now. 

“Stop picking at it,” Arthur says, because he doesn’t know how to deal with this suddenly sullen Merlin, quiet and thoughtful and upset. “You might aggravate it.”

“Won’t,” Merlin mutters, and clutches loosely at the wound, closing his eyes, teeth clenched. “You are such an utter pillock, Arthur, how could you put yourself at risk like that?”

The  _nerve_. “I’m the pillock?” Arthur says, incredulously. “It’s not like I asked for it to attack us!”

“We could’ve run away.” Merlin sighs, long-suffering, in a way that Arthur suspects is supposed to convey ten different kinds of Merlin-insolence. “Or, I don’t know, you could’ve not provoked it.”

“It was pretty set on attacking us, Merlin.” And in that quick, almost imperceptible flash when the creature’s gaze had snapped to Merlin, Arthur had known he had to do something. “And it would’ve gone for you, at that moment. I couldn’t just let it discover for itself just how rotten a meal my manservant would’ve made, could I?”

Merlin laughs, dry. “So you drew attention to yourself instead? It could’ve hurt you. Killed you. What were you thinking?”

Arthur bends down next to him and brushes the back of his knuckles against Merlin’s arm. Hell with it; he swallows his pride. “I couldn’t let you die.”

A pause. “Really.”

“Maybe.”

Merlin pushes at him and shakes his head. “You’re the Crown Prince, don’t do stupid things like that. I’m supposed to be the reckless one between us.”

“I won’t have you sacrificing yourself for me in such a way,” Arthur says fiercely, eyes drawn to the brown, blood-stained rag. “Not for nothing.”

“It wasn’t for nothing,” Merlin insists, and doesn’t meet Arthur’s eyes after that. “I would’ve died protecting you.”

“Is that supposed to help anything?”

“It’s what I would’ve done.”

By the gods, but Merlin was frustrating. “I don’t need people dying for me in the name of duty. Just because I know it can be a necessity on campaigns, when my knights are defending me—”

“I don’t do it for duty,” Merlin interrupts, expression heavy. “I’d do it for Arthur. Not the Prince Arthur; just  _you_ Arthur. All right?” He gestures at his bleeding arm. “I’d go through that again a thousand times if I could keep you safe.”

Arthur’s not used to words like that from Merlin either. He’s stunned for a moment. “I didn’t expect you to the sort to verbalise declarations of affection, Merlin.”

Merlin turns pink. “Well, don’t get used to it.” He coughs. “This is a one-time thing.”

“Almost getting mauled by some skinny wolf?” Arthur snorts, and then the slight tension in the air melts out from around them. Merlin’s grinning, and he finds himself grinning back. “I should hope so, it would be disgraceful.”

Merlin’s eyes narrow. “It had you  _pinned_.”

“Please, Merlin, I’m a seasoned warrior. I would’ve taken care of it.” If he were to be honest, not really; it had been a powerful blow, knocking the wind out of his chest. He can still see the jaws snapping at his face. 

“Didn’t look like that to me when you were whimpering,” Merlin says, deadpan.

“You take that back,” Arthur says, adopting Merlin’s theatrical tone.

“ _Never_.”

“Two days in the stocks for your impertinence.”

“That’s abuse!”

“Three days in the stocks.”

“You can’t just—”

“Watch me, Merlin. Just watch me.”


End file.
